Waiting for the Numbers to Change
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] Stuck at the airport on Christmas Eve, Blaine does what any other single young man would. He opens the Tinder app to pass the time.


**author's notes:** short and sweet and silly holiday fluff.

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 **WAITING FOR THE NUMBERS TO CHANGE**

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His fingers tickle along the white keys of the piano—placed at the bottom of the escalators, the size of the terminal somewhat unmade the melody, but it hadn't stopped families from gathering around the piano to hear him play.

All had come and gone, however, as the clock neared midnight, and all who were left were a few stragglers braving the night with either great hope, or those who didn't have anywhere else to go. Blaine doubted any cabs would drive him home through the dense snowfall outside or he would've returned to his small cold dorm room.

Or maybe he was one of the hopefuls left.

" _I am stuck at the airport_ ," he sings, voice trailing off as his eyes skip to the departures board again, hoping to see any of the numbers changed in the two minutes since he last checked.

No such luck.

Blaine sighed, looking around for anything else to entertain him. He could get another coffee; at least it'd be warmer inside the shops, or he could browse through some of the magazine racks for something to read. All of that had sounded far more appealing two hours ago, right before his flight got delayed due to 'inclement weather'.

" _Waiting for the numbers to change_ ," he sings on without the piano accompanying him and makes a blind grab for his phone, laying on the sleek shining surface of the piano.

There were a few text messages from his mom, telling him to text when he landed, though he'd decided to take a cab home once he arrived in Columbus. If he ever managed to leave New York, that is.

" _I'm stuck at the airport_."

Sam emailed, asking about his plans for New Year's, but he could barely think about that when he still had to get through Christmas with his family—his dad would probably have a thing or two to say about him catching a flight out so late and worrying his mother when she already got worked up about having guests over, and the topic of his love life was bound to come up too.

He loved the holidays, and he loved his family, but he always came away with the same trite taste in his mouth.

" _Hoping that the flights will rearrange_."

Having checked his few social media apps, Blaine opens Tinder.

Last resort, and all.

There were no new matches since he last opened the app, and no messages from any of the matches he'd made the past month.

That left him with only one thing to do.

He starts browsing through potential matches to pass the time.

Martin. Twenty-Five. Virgo. New Jersey.

 _Swipe Left._

Frank. No profile. Pictured shirtless.

 _Swipe Left._

Sebastian Smythe. Twenty-two. Pre-law. Post-breakup.

He looked good, this Sebastian, in a surprisingly modest gym selfie that showed off his biceps nonetheless, strands of hair loosened over his forehead where sweat had defeated any product he'd tamed it with.

Post-breakup never promised any stellar conversations, though.

 _Swipe Left._

"Ouch," a voice sounds behind him, close enough for him to realize the man the voice came with had been reading along over his shoulder. What kind of person does that? Couldn't he see this was private?

"Hard no for that one, huh?" the voice adds fuel to the fire, and he's about ready to give this person a decent piece of his mind, tell him to go mind his own business and wait out his flight like any other poor sap stranded here on Christmas Eve, when he looks up and—

"Oh- Oh my God," he stutters, eyes widening the moment he recognizes the boy from his Tinder profile.

Sebastian Smythe.

Post-breakup.

"It's you!" he blurts out, eyes falling to his phone, though Sebastian's picture has been replaced with someone else's. "I—"

"I mean, I get all the others," Sebastian says unfazed, and settles not too shyly next to him on the narrow piano bench, "No self-respecting gay man gets excited about nipple rings anymore—"

Blaine blinks.

Was this really happening?

"But I really thought I had a shot."

"I'm"—he blinks again, and can't help the laugh that escapes him—"sorry."

This is ridiculous. How was this not something straight out of a Hallmark movie?

"I was bored," Blaine says, barely containing a smile. "I wasn't going to Swipe Right on anyone."

Tinder was -in his friend Santana's immortal words- an app used for flings, in between the important relationships. He's not sure he agreed with that assessment, and he's not sure exactly why he'd let her set up a profile for him, but he'd met some interesting people over the past year, since his last important relationship ended. He'd even had fun with one or two of them, but nothing serious had ever come out of it.

Which had never been the point in the first place.

"You shouldn't gamble with your future happiness like that," Sebastian says, sitting comfortably next to him, someone entirely different than his profile had suggested. Without the gym selfie comprising his entire identity Sebastian seemed a different person, with his long black winter coat, a green scarf that matched his eyes wrapped snug around his neck. Freckles trapped in his eyebrow.

Like this, he definitely looked more pre-law than he did post-breakup.

Goes to show how much a Tinder profile can skew a person's perception.

"I highly doubt the love of my life is lurking on Tinder," he says, even if that's a promise Tinder held, or a promise many hopefuls wished it held. He's unsure which category he falls into; he doesn't hold to Santana's limited idea, but future happiness takes a lot more than swiping a finger across a touchscreen.

Sebastian grimaces, "And he swipes left again," a clear hint of dejection his voice fails to disguise.

It hits him ridiculously late.

Was Sebastian being serious? Was he not simply passing the time like he'd been?

Was he looking for an honest connection?

"You think you're the love of my life?" the question escapes involuntarily, while his heart skips a haphazard beat the likes of which he hasn't experienced in months, that first strange flutter of something that could be, something that might be, something that more than often wanes into fantasy far removed from reality.

"I'd"—Sebastian scoots a bit closer, bringing with him a whiff of oaky aftershave—"like to think I have at least the potential."

Blaine smiles fondly.

There'd been a reason why he swiped left, and a lot of that had to do with Sebastian's gym selfie; no way was Sebastian anywhere within his league, with those biceps and that smooth kind of self-confidence that's oddly endearing now that he's face to face with it.

Tinder made Sebastian out to be someone else.

So in the spirit of Christmas—

"Okay," he whispers.

This throws Sebastian for a loop for a moment or two. "O-kay?" he asks, as if he hadn't expected the fast turnaround, and his eyes narrow on his face.

Blaine shrugs, beyond caring whether or not this is a good idea; he's stuck at the airport in the middle of a snowstorm, on Christmas of all days. He deserves his Hallmark moment.

"I'm Swiping Right," he says. "I'm Blaine."

Sebastian smiles, slow but soft, starting his heart fluttering again. "Okay," Sebastian echoes.

Deep down he always knew he was one of the hopefuls.

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" _I repeat_ ," a flight attendant's voice rings over the airport's intercom, " _This is the final boarding call for flight 2K307 to Columbus, Ohio_."

"Hurry _up_ ," Blaine hisses, weaving expertly through the bustling afternoon crowd, the wheels of his suitcase spinning overtime.

How they managed to cut it this close might've had something to do with their late morning, the shower they shared until the water ran cold, the hand he slipped into Blaine's chinos while he'd stood packing.

What else did boyfriends do on their first day off in months, which happened to coincide with their one-year anniversary?

"Blaine—"

He slows to a halt when he watches Blaine make a swift left turn, headed for gates 5 through 10 rather than 10 through 20. Weren't they boarding at Gate 15?

"Our gate's this way!" he calls, but Blaine keeps moving as if possessed by the devil, disappearing in the crowd filling the terminal. Maybe he got it wrong; maybe their gate got changed and Blaine forgot to tell him—Blaine's usually on top of their travel plans, so he probably knows exactly where he's going.

Worming his way through the thick Christmas crowd, keeping his carry-on close while dragging his suitcase behind him, he eventually finds his boyfriend at the bottom of the escalators, decidedly nowhere near a gate of any kind.

Blaine gasps. "It's not here anymore."

"What's not here anymore?" Sebastian asks, frowning.

The airport's decorated the same way it always was this time of year; a large Christmas tree at the center of the terminal, straining under the weight of all the lights, baubles and tinsel some poor fool was forced to put up, lights wrapped around banisters and rungs and bars.

Last Christmas there was even—

"The piano?" he realizes, picturing the black shining surface crystal clear in his mind's eye; this is the exact spot where he first laid eyes on Blaine a year ago, where he'd listened to him play the piano, then sing softly to himself.

This is where he fell in love with Blaine.

"That's why you dragged me all the way—"

That doesn't mean he's off the hook. Blaine's been up in arms about this Christmas for close to three weeks, buying the perfect gifts, finding the perfect wrapping paper, getting their tickets well in advance, all in the hopes of getting to Columbus well before his dad could start complaining.

And _now_ he's making a detour?

"Blaine, we're going to miss our flight."

This doesn't seem to invoke any more urgency than any other of his previous attempts at getting his boyfriend moving. In fact, Blaine turns around and tilts his head, smiling that special little smile which usually spells good things are coming his way—Blaine's honey-hazel eyes shine brighter than any light on any string in the entire terminal.

He's done for.

"But it's our anniversary, Sebastian," Blaine says, all coy and sweet and cute like a perfectly tied bow around a Christmas treat, following that up with a pleading, "This is where we met."

As if he needed the reminder.

Blaine called it their first date, at that small table in the empty coffee shop, two medium drips between them. With both their flights delayed indefinitely they talked for hours, about how they'd spend the holidays and their families, about school in New York and their ambitions in life, about some of the small things like favorite foods and coffee orders, but also the big things like his recent break-up and Blaine's own misfortunes in love.

When the storm finally did abate and they were able to board their flights, they exchanged phone numbers, both hopefuls filled with the promise of what could be.

He deleted his Tinder app not long after that.

"One year ago on Christmas Eve we Swiped Right on each other," Blaine says, romanticizing it enough to make it sound like a Hallmark movie. _A Very Tinder Christmas_.

"Technically—"

Blaine points at him. "We're not doing that."

Which shuts him right up. "Alright."

"I think I've told you how wrong I was enough times to be forgiven by now."

"If I say yes will that make you run for our gate any faster?" he asks, even though there isn't a chance in hell he'll ever let Blaine live that down; it helped remembering that the first time he'd teased Blaine about it, Blaine had shut him up with their first kiss. Any teasing that followed was Blaine's own fault.

Blaine shakes his head, nose scrunching.

He sighs, but there's no heat behind it. "We're going to have a moment now, aren't we?"

Blaine tugs at his scarf. "Can you stop joking for one minute?"

Drawing in a breath, he catches Blaine's eyes, making sure he knows he's being absolutely serious, and not making some subtle jab at his expense about how 'Post-breakup' Sebastian was the one to see their potential long before 'Hopeless Romantic' Blaine ever did.

"I'm not joking," he says. "I wasn't joking a year ago, either."

He can practically feel the heat radiating from Blaine's cheeks.

His boyfriend rises on his toes, stealing a kiss from his lips. "I love you, Sebastian," Blaine whispers, and, before he can reciprocate, adds, "Twenty-three. Pre-law."

"You're ridiculous." Sebastian snorts.

Blaine giggles, and mimics swiping right with his right thumb. " _Off the market_."

"Veritable catch," he adds—he pulls Blaine closer with a swift tug around his waist and captures Blaine's lips in a kiss. With a squeak at the back of his throat, Blaine relaxes into the kiss.

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 **fin**

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End file.
